then we’ll go away and you can forget we were ever here.”
Ugh, I wish I hadn’t put it that way. She was going to forget we were here, either way.
My mom set her mouth in a firm line and nodded once. “I would like to know.”
“Mom, you were in a bad car accident about ten years ago. You lost your ability to make short term memories, so you don’t know who we are.”
“That’s impossible,” she replied curtly, but the look in her eyes was less sure. “I would have known. I would have seen it coming and made plans for it.”
She always says that. As if she could have changed the future.
“Mom, it’s not something that you can see coming. The brain damage – the doctor says that it’s extensive, but she doesn’t know if it’s permanent. So, there’s a chance that one day you’ll recover.”
Then came the really hard part. My mom looked at each of us again, closely, scanning our faces for a sign of familiarity. Her hands, which were clasping the ledge of the table, began to tremble. Then suddenly she grabbed Tim’s arm, her grip so tight that her knuckles went white.
“You…” she began, but no words came.
“Take your time, mom,” Tim assured her, placing his other hand over hers.
“You look just like your father,” she croaked. “Is he…?”
“He died in the car crash. But Katie – your baby – she survived.”
“The baby?” My mother put a hand on her belly and looked down. Her relief was matched only by her surprise. “The baby… survived.”
No one but my mom had known she was pregnant at the time. And since she was so early in the pregnancy, it wasn't